


Between the Shores of Your Souls

by alexcat



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Goodbyes, M/M, My Slashy Valentine, Sailing To Valinor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-06
Updated: 2019-02-06
Packaged: 2019-10-23 09:41:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17681036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexcat/pseuds/alexcat
Summary: Legolas decides that it is time to sail.





	Between the Shores of Your Souls

**Author's Note:**

  * For [IgnobleBard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IgnobleBard/gifts).



> This is the prompt: When Legolas travels to the sea to begin his journey west he meets Maglor without knowing who he is.

_But let there be spaces in your togetherness and let the winds of the heavens dance between you. Love one another but make not a bond of love: let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls._ ~ Khalil Gibran

*  
Legolas left his home with the elves in Ithilien. His time was finally done. He had fulfilled all his promises here in Arda. The number of elves left in Middle Earth was few now; most had traveled in the last years that Círdan lived in the Grey Havens, going into the West on the tall ships he built for that singular purpose. Círdan, himself, had left long ago with the last riding of the Ringbearers. 

Legolas had chosen to stay behind in Middle Earth. He pledged his loyalty to King Elessar and he stayed as long as his dear friend lived. The little hobbits who had not sailed had long gone to the reward of their kind, as had the other men he had known. Dear, beautiful Arwen had not lingered long after the man she gave up eternity for passed from this world. She lay beneath the ground in her beloved Lothlórien. 

Legolas was still here, as was Gimli, his companion and friend through all the long years. Legolas decided he would travel to the Glittering Caves first, to invite his friend to sail with him. He was sure the Valar would welcome such a person as Gimli. He _was_ a favorite of the lady Galadriel, he thought, smiling to himself. 

He traveled to the home Gimli had made for himself and his kin. They lived in the very caves that he and Gimli had explored in the mountains behind Helm’s Deep. Gimli was a little grayer of beard and hair, a little thicker all over than he’d been before, but other than that, as spry as ever. 

“What brings ye to our home, my friend?” he said as Legolas dismounted and approached his home. The caves were tall and well lit, none of the dark, dank caverns of old. 

“I have come to tell you my plans and to issue you an invitation.”

For a moment, Gimli feared that darkness had crept back into the world as he lived unaware in these caves, where he had raised children and their children and now another new generation was beginning to be born as well.

Legolas saw the troubled look and hurried to allay Gimli’s fears. “I am going on a journey. I will gather men who build ships and make one for myself to sail. I come to offer you a seat among the last who will sail before we fade from memory completely.”

“I am not an elf, lad.”

“It matters not. If you would go, they will receive you. You are an elf friend and have been these many years. If you do not wish to sail, I understand that as well. You have a fine family and have made a beautiful home of these caverns.”

“I still have her gift, you know.” He pulled a small pouch from his pocket and opened it. Inside were the golden hairs that Galadriel had given Gimli when he had visited Lothlórien so many, many years ago. 

“I am sure she will smile to lay eyes on you again.” Legolas, himself, smiled at the memory of the day she had given them all gifts as after they had lost Gandalf and were set to carry on their quest to destroy the One Ring without him. 

“When will ye sail?” Gimli asked after offering Legolas food and drink, which he gratefully took. They sat at the long wooden table in main cave to talk and eat. 

“I am traveling to the Grey Havens from here. There are still shipyards there though they are run by men these days. They are the descendants of the men Círdan taught to build ships and they still build a fine, sturdy craft there.

“I will reside there,” he continued, “until the ship is ready to set sail. I thought I might visit some of the areas close by and spend time on the shores there. This is the only land I’ve known and though the sea calls me, I will miss this world.

“You do not have to answer me now.”

Legolas stayed several days, meeting the newest members of Gimli’s family, even holding several of his great-grandchildren as the two friends rocked by the fire in the evenings. 

Gimli’s wife sat beside him late one evening. “He will go with you, you know. He pines for the adventure to be found outside the caves, always has.”

“Will you forgive me for taking him away?” Legolas looked into her eyes. 

“Elf, he has never been wholly here. I’d wager you are the same. That journey, the wars, the adventures, he was never content to be a dwarf who lived in a cave after those days. He always belonged more to your Fellowship than he did us. I will miss him, aye, but he will be happy with another adventure, another chance to be with his friend.”

Legolas nodded, took her gnarled hand and kissed it as if she were a princess. “Gimli is lucky to have such a mate. I am not sure I could leave such a fine lass,” he said, using the term Gimli used for his wife. 

“Oh go on with you, elf!” She blushed like a maid at his words, understanding her husband’s fondness for the elf at last. 

Gimli and Legolas decided that the elf would send for him when the ship was near to completion. That would give him more time with his wife and his large family before he sailed, for they all knew that there would be no return trip. 

*

Maglor had ridden the shores of Middle Earth for too many years to count. He moved from place to place but had spent much of the last few hundred years here on the Gulf of Lhûn at the Grey Havens. He had watched Círdan build his mighty ships and sail them from the gulf. It was where elves came to travel into the west, boarding one of the ancient shipwright’s tall ships and sailing away. 

He had a hut that he called home, if anywhere was home. It was a few miles from Mithlond, far enough away that he only met people when he wanted to. He had taken care never to meet many elves, though he had talked to Círdan more than once. The bearded shipwright forgave him for the kinslayings, though Maglor was sure that he could never forget those awful deeds. Maglor, himself, never would. 

He had heard the elves talking, heard the legends that he walked the shore, singing laments for the lost Silmaril. How could he ever lament the lost stones? They had caused so many tears, so much sorrow and he was responsible for much of it himself. His laments were for the sins he’d committed in the name of the Oath, for his brothers, for his own lost soul. 

These days, men were the only people he saw. They knew not of the kinslaying, of the Silmarils. They called him the hermit and respected his need for privacy. They knew when bad things happened, the hermit often helped out with an extra hand for chores, some healing herbs, or a pot of stew, and he asked for nothing back. They often left him things near his hut, a bundle of twigs for kindling, some apples from their trees, scones and cakes leftover from a celebration. 

He was content here.

One day, he saw a sight he had thought to never see again. 

An elf rode onto the beach on a fine white steed. Maglor was sure they’d all sailed. This one was fair haired, as some of the Silvan elves were. Perhaps he was with some of the bands near the Green Wood. He remembered that Oropher had gone there after the fall of Doriath. 

He stayed back in the edge of the forest, undecided if he’d go out to meet the other elf or not. It would be wonderful to spend some time with one of his own kind again. 

In the end, caution made him hang back. He watched the elf ride like the wind on his prancing horse. The joy he felt as he rode was quite easy to see as he leaned down close to the horse’s back and the horse ran full out all the way out of sight. 

Maglor wondered if he’d ever felt such joy. 

*

Legolas had not visited shipyards of the Grey Havens many times. Though the city of Mithlond and the docks were occupied by men now, they still had the look of their elven builders. There was the feeling of a slower, gentler time there than in most cities. 

He had said his goodbyes and would live here until his ship was ready. Gimli would join him when he was ready to leave his family. Gimli knew also that Legolas would not think less of him if he opted to stay with his wife and fine sons and daughters. 

The elf decided to ride along the Gulf of Lhûn to the sea. He had little to do but wait, so he rolled up his bedroll, gathered his camping gear and set out on horseback. 

Legolas saw that he was being watched from far up the beach. He saw the barely discernable figure in the edge of the trees. Intrigued, he rode closer but did not approach the woods yet. He figured that if someone wanted to remain hidden, then it was not his place to force them out into the open. 

The figure retreated into the shadows, finally blending into the woods so completely that he was out of sight. Legolas smiled to himself and rode on. 

It never occurred to Legolas that the figure could be an elf. The few who were left lived in Ithilien and would be sailing with him and Gimli when the time came. He thought maybe Celeborn and his grandsons might still be out there somewhere, but he wasn’t sure about that. No one had spoken of them in many years.

He didn’t see anyone the next few days when he rode that stretch of beach early in the morning and again late in the day. Perhaps it been a drifter and had moved on. He regretted not going closer when he’d had the chance. 

*

Maglor hid farther back, far enough that even keen elven eyes could not see and watched the rider as he returned the next few days. After arguing with himself about it, he decided that if the elf came back one more time, he would go out and meet him. 

The next morning, just as the sun peeped over the horizon, Maglor walked out onto the beach. He sat on the sand and watched the waves come in. The longing for home was almost painful on days like this. 

He heard hooves thundering up the beach from Mithlond. His first instinct was to run to the woods and hide. He didn’t. He remained where he was. He shielded his eyes from the rising sun with his hand as he looked down the beach and saw the rider, the elf on the white horse. He waited. 

*

Legolas slowed quickly, pulling the horse up to a stop. 

“Hello, friend. I saw you the other day. Do you live here?” 

Maglor rose and dusted the sand from his clothing. “I live in the woods, away from people. I live a hermit’s life these days.” 

“Shall I ride on then?” Legolas asked, looking concerned he had committed some offense rather than looking offended at Maglor’s words. 

“No. I watched you ride and realized you are new here. What brings you to the beach?” 

Legolas dismounted from his horse, let the horse wander as it would and approached Maglor. “I have come to build the boat that will take me and my friend to the Undying Lands. I have commissioned the men at Lord Círdan’s docks to build it for me and will live here until it is ready for the journey.” 

“I have not seen another elf in many years,” Maglor said to him. 

“I have only seen the few who linger in Ithilien and they will sail with me when my ship is ready.”

Maglor nodded, not asking more questions. He did not want to lie to Legolas, but he was not ready yet to tell the younger elf who he was. He was not ready to say goodbye to him quite yet either. 

“Come to my hut. I will make tea for us,” Maglor said on an impulse.

*

Legolas had no idea that any elves still lived here. This hermit was a handsome elf, dark-haired, tall. His clothes were worn but they were of good quality. He wore gloves on his hands, something that Legolas had seldom seen outside battle. He was sure the other elf had a reason and he was just as sure that the elf would tell him when he was ready for him to know what it was. 

He was glad to take the hermit up on his offer of tea. He followed him back in the woods. His home was indeed a hut, but it was certainly not a hovel. Though small, it was neat and clean, one room with a bed, two chairs, a table and woodstove to cook on. Wood was piled up out front and he noticed a small well with a windlass and bucket above it. The hermit had been here some time indeed. 

“Sit while I heat some water,” Maglor told him as he stirred the fire in the stove and set a kettle of water on top to heat. 

“This is a nice home, much nicer than I’d have thought for its size.” Legolas gestured around him. 

“I have had many years to improve it. It was a hovel indeed when I found it.”

Legolas took note that the stranger offered no more explanation. 

Maglor poured their tea once it was hot. They drank in silence though it wasn’t uncomfortable. Legolas was glad to get the cakes offered with the tea. They tasted a lot like the cakes their cook had made when he was a child. 

He rose from his seat when he finished. “I must be going. I need to check in with the ship builder. He actually has the frame built already. I understand that is the quickest part to build, but it is also exciting because it makes the whole idea real finally.”

Maglor walked him to the door. “I hope you’ll visit me again.” 

Legolas nodded and thanked him for sharing tea and cakes with him and was gone. 

*

Maglor found himself on the beach the next day, waiting for Legolas. 

It was late morning when he appeared. He had a basket and brought it with him when he got off his horse. 

“Good day, friend!” Legolas called to him as Maglor got up to greet him. 

“I have brought meat and bread as well as a bottle of wine for our noon meal. The innkeeper roasts a fine chicken and his wife makes bread as good as our cook made it in the Green Wood.”

“Shall we eat here? I can go back to the cabin for a blanket,” Maglor asked.

“I even remembered that, too.” He set the basket down and went back to his horse for the blanket. 

Soon the two sat down for a picnic. The chicken was juicy and still warm, as was the bread. They ate and drank in a happy silence, the only sound the pounding of the waves on the beach. 

“So do you have a trade?” Legolas asked as they put away the food they didn’t eat as they sat on the blanket. 

“I do many things. I make herbal remedies, I mend musical instruments and sometimes I play at weddings and feasts. The rest of the time, I am busy cutting wood and storing food to eat in the colder months of the year.”

“What do they call you?” Legolas asked. It was the question he dreaded. 

“They call me ‘hermit’. I have not heard my name in so long that I am not sure I’d answer to it.” 

Legolas said nothing for a moment. “I am Legolas of the Green Wood.”

Maglor smiled. “I gathered as much.”

“Where are you from?”

Maglor again hesitated. “I was born across the sea.”

If the elf had any idea who he was, he wasn’t saying much, Maglor thought. Legolas let the subject go with Maglor’s answer. 

“Do you need help gathering wood for the coming winter? Or some game to salt and dry for meat? I am handy with a bow and am still strong enough to split wood,” Legolas said with a smile. “I don’t have much to do until they get the boat nearer to done.”

“I would be glad of the company anytime,” Maglor said and, to his surprise, he meant it.

*

It came to be that Legolas came to the beach most days to share a meal with Maglor. They cut wood and stacked it until Legolas was sure the hermit had enough for several winters. They hunted and salted meat, storing it in a very small smokehouse out back. Maglor taught Legolas about herbs as they gathered them for drying and for their seeds. 

Every evening they would stop in their chores and eat dinner together. 

Legolas told stories of the fellowship and of his friends. Maglor told stories of his life here, of the people of the nearby villages, careful not to talk about anything before he came to live near the beach. 

One evening, Legolas looked up at the flute hanging on the wall. “Will you play? You said you mend instruments and play at weddings.”

“I will,” he answered solemnly. Maglor only removed the gloves from his scarred hands to play music, so he removed them now. He took the little flute from the wall and brought it to his lips. He began to play. 

The song was sweet and winsome, reminding Legolas of his youth, before war and darkness came to the world. He remembered his father’s musicians playing and his parents dancing to the sweet, formal tunes. 

Before Maglor was done, Legolas wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. “That was beautiful, my friend,” he said when the song was done.

Maglor put the flute away but he did not put his gloves back on. He looked at Legolas as if he were deep in thought then asked, “Will you stay?”

Without any hesitation at all, Legolas nodded. As Maglor came around the table, Legolas blew out the lamp. 

*

They sat on the beach one bright spring day. Nearly a year had passed since Legolas had first seen Maglor in the edge of the woods. Legolas spent most of his time in the little hut that had become more of a home than anywhere he’d ever lived. He hadn’t been back to town for weeks until the day before. 

“My boat is finished. I have sent for Gimli,” Legolas said, looking out over the sea. 

“Is it a fine boat?” Maglor asked. He sipped the cup of tea he’d brought along. 

“It is. Will you come see it?” 

“I am not completely sure I can bear to see the vessel that will take you from me.” He was trying and failing at not letting his sorrow over Legolas’ impeding departure show.

“You can come with us, too. There is plenty of room.” Legolas looked away from the sea and at Maglor.

“I cannot, my love. Surely you know that by now.” 

“I know you are Noldor and I know you are a kinsman of the Lady Galadriel, but I know not who you are, nor why you stay here. It has never mattered to me. After my grandfather left Doriath when Fëanor’s sons sacked it, we never had any dealings with the Noldor.”

“Do you know the tale of what happened to the Silmarils and the last of Fëanor’s sons?” 

“Maedhros cast himself into the fire and Maglor threw his Silmaril into the - you are Maglor! You are the greatest musician in all of Arda and you saved Elrond and Elros!” Legolas exclaimed.

Maglor nodded sadly, expecting his love to lash out in anger at him and his deception. 

“I wish that you could come with us. If not, then say the word and I will abide here with you until Arda passes away.” 

Maglor was crying now. He had never expected this, not in his wildest thoughts and dreams. “I cannot ask that of you and would be angry if you did it.” 

“It matters not where I am. I have never been to the lands in the West and cannot miss what I have never seen.” 

Maglor smiled a sad smile at him. “But I _have_ been there, my love. My homeland is filled with so much beauty that this world, though quite lovely, is a hazy reflection of that one. You must go – I will be happy knowing that you are there, surrounded by loved ones and friends.”

Sadly, Legolas agreed to go. 

*

On the day that they were to sail, Maglor came to the dock. He wore his best robes and carried his flute in his bare hands. Legolas ran to meet him. 

“Are you sure you won’t come with us?” 

“I cannot. Will you remember me to my mother? Tell her I am well here?” 

Both elves were crying now. The crew and passengers were all aboard the lovely ship that would truly be the last one to venture to the Undying Lands. All but Legolas. 

They kissed one last kiss and he started across the plank. He did not turn back. He hurried across. The captain untied the ropes and pulled the plank in. He raised the sails and they began to move. 

Maglor began to play and played his flute until Legolas sailed out of sight aboard the tall ship, across a sea that looked like glass in the sun’s bright light. He put the flute in his pocket and walked back to his home in the woods beside the sea. He never played the flute again.

**Author's Note:**

> This is what Maglor's flute might have sounded like: https://youtu.be/ChD79ISnN0Q


End file.
